cowgirls

cowgirls

Monday, August 12, 2013

Grown Up Wayward Girl Scouts

Our 4.a.m. wake-up call.
 

If Sister Sister-in-law Cindy and I never earn another merit badge, we will go to Sister heaven content knowing we were worthy of the "Camping in Bad Weather" patch.  Damn worthy.


We were so hoping the weather this meet-up would be more forgiving than that of Saddle Up, our previous event. Shet, we had better odds at choosing the winner of the 139th running of the Kentucky Derby scheduled to take place a week later.




But, one day, years from now when Bella's dots have faded and Cindy and I are old older and gray grayer, we will gather 'round Bella's redwood deck while her polyester curtains blow in the wind and reminisce. Yes, reminisce of Sisters' days gone by and the great pride we shared the day we received our first place Golden Globes Statue of Liberty trophy patch and the harsh elements we endured to earn this dubious Nobel prize award. Yes, it's that freaking prestigious.


The moment Bella shuddered I shot straight up in my bunk. Cindy was awakened earlier by a soaked comforter after Bella sprung another leak. The temperature was dropping by the hour, from 82 degrees when we arrived that night to near freezing by the following morning. It was gittin colder than a mother-in-law's kiss. ha. shet.

Not again, we thought. My rubber cowgirl boots still bore Tennessee mud from our previous outing. We're just two ol' gals trying to have more fun than anyone. Would it be too much to ask if we could do it warm and dry?

Our campsite gave us reason for concern even before the storm began. So as not to break our record of being dead last in a wagon train, we drove up fashionably late with our boots fresh-greased and spurs shined only to find our site at the bottom of a hill. So this is a Kentucky holler, I thought. Loretta Lynn began swirling in my head. I was certain Mother Nature was gonna blow us the rest of the way down and into the lake nearby. Now, I'm not one for bitching, ha, but it would seem to me a campsite would at least have more than one amenity. There was no picnic table, no trash can, no fire pit, and the two-toilet bathhouse was a country mile away, at least it was from down in Butcher holler. We realized our freshly-hoe'd field site was an afterthought by the man genius who designed the campground. There were turned boulders rocks and fresh dirt - Kentucky dark red clay- that turned quickly into a mud pit. So much for lush Kentucky bluegrass.

Cold and wet and needing to pee like a ten d...I jumped into the Suburban to make my way through the mudslide to the bathhouse. I crunk it up, ha, put it in reverse, gave it some gas when, shet, I could feel tires spinning. I got out and looked, and sure as shet, the wagon wheels were mired in a foot of mud. In our campsite. What the fudge. As if Sister Cindy had not babied me enough, I swam walked back to the camper Bella and woke her up. "Thelma! How do you put this bitch in four-wheel drive?!"


  I think I know now why my momma never let me join Girl Scouts.

2 comments:

  1. Bahahaha! Told just like it was fur real. Red mud and huge rocks everywhere...well mostly at our campsite. I'm not giving up on the weather yet. Hopefully our next trip will be dry. Great job Louise!!

    ReplyDelete